


Skip-Outs and Hideouts

by yuletide_archivist



Category: The Rundown (2003)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-25
Updated: 2008-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-25 08:08:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1640585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rescuing Billy Walker's son seemed like a good idea at the time.  Now all Beck wants is to get out of town alive so he and Travis can go their separate ways -- but Travis isn't making it easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skip-Outs and Hideouts

**Author's Note:**

> Written for wizefics

 

 

>   
> The truck purred down the road at 6 mph above the legal limit. Beck had no intention of getting stopped by a cop,  
> not with Travis with fresh bruises on his face and Billy Walker's mansion being pretty much the only thing behind  
> them on this road.
> 
> Even without cuffs on, Travis squirmed around a lot in his seat, it turned out. "I still say you should have taken him out. Okay, you don't like guns, you could have broken his neck, ninja-style. Ka-ching!"
> 
> "You really in that much of a hurry to see your old man dead?" Beck said, a little disgusted, but not buying it. 
> 
> Travis shrugged and looked away. He said, "You know he's gonna kill you." 
> 
> "Maybe it won't come to that," Beck said evenly. Finally telling Billy where to get off had felt good, really good. But now there were consequences. In the back of his mind he was tabulating contacts, resources, and alternatives, while his eyes tracked the white lines fleeting by and the unwavering odometer. It wasn't panic: it was focus. He could do this. 
> 
> Travis watched him pull onto the highway. On the drive there he'd checked the contents of the glove compartment, flip-up drink box, and CD player, chattering the whole time. Now he kept staring at Beck. "Where to?" He rubbed his wrists and waited. 
> 
> "First," Beck said, hearing the decisions as he made them, "my place."
> 
> "Oh, yeah?" Travis sat up straighter. "I wondered if I was reading you right, man. So how far is this whole thing gonna go? You gonna get rough with me?"
> 
> Beck, three steps into a plan that might keep them both out of sight or even, hopefully, out of trouble, didn't spare him more than a quick glance.
> 
> "I mean, the shoving, that's your thing, right? You want to play games, I can go along. Master-servant, whatever."
> 
> Peeved, Beck frowned at him and turned his attention back to the road. 
> 
> "You give orders, I say yes sir. You want me to call you master? That's kinky, big boy. But I can give you your money's worth. You put the cuffs on again, I'll do whatever you say."
> 
> It was hopeless trying to think with this kind of bullshit going down. "Shut up." Beck kept his eyes on the road. 
> 
> "That's right. Oh, you'll see, I follow orders real well."
> 
> Goaded, Beck raised his voice. "Your orders are to _shut up."_
> 
> "Fine, just trying to play along, here." 
> 
> Travis shook himself out like he'd won a point and lounged ridiculously against the padded seat back, spine totally relaxed, so that even Beck, who was keeping his eyes on the road, could see long, lean denim thighs stretched out and falling open in the sunlight. 
> 
> He didn't want to take the guy to his apartment, but he didn't see an option B.
> 
>   
> 
> 
> "Nice place," Travis said. Beck didn't know if he was being sarcastic. Compared to the places Travis had been living, it probably was nice.
> 
> It also fit Beck's strategy for survival these days—keep it simple; nothing too personal; no pets; not much anyone could hurt or use. He could pack the essentials in a few minutes and leave the rest for his neighbors. He pulled out the bag that _hadn't_ been to the Amazon and back, and started moving through, methodically filling it. His best skillet and knives from the kitchen. Family photos from the main room. Travis followed him into the bedroom as he started filling up on clothes and ammo. 
> 
> "So this is where the magic happens, huh?" Travis said, lounging in the doorway. His hips were at what might be considered a provocative angle, by somebody who had time to deal with Travis. 
> 
> "Go stand by the door." 
> 
> "You sure that's where you want me?" 
> 
> Beck slapped another shirt down on the stack. "If there's one thing Billy Walker doesn't like, it's getting laughed at. Now in another couple hours at most, somebody is going to check in with your dad and find he's not taking calls. When that happens, I want to be on a plane. So go stand by the door and shut up." 
> 
> Travis, looking a little crestfallen, did as he was told. On second thoughts, Beck picked up the duffel with the money in it and brought it into the bedroom with him. 
> 
> Without distractions—he didn't know how Travis had gotten onto this gay teasing thing, but it wasn't helping—Beck finished quickly, and ushered them both out with regret. It was a waste. He'd liked those sheets. But he liked his face in one piece, too. 
> 
> "Can I talk now?" Travis said as they started back across the parking lot. "Look, I'm sorry I didn't get it, okay? I'm kind of giddy. Like, I thought I was screwed, I thought I was _screwed._ And you saved me. I'm pretty hyped." 
> 
> "Yeah, I get that." A little gratitude was nice, actually. Beck didn't see a lot of that. The people he dealt with were usually pretty pissed at him.
> 
> "But I understand that the situation's still serious, so, you know, I'm just going to let you call the shots. For real. And we can hold off on the rest of this until we're out of town." 
> 
> "The rest of what?" Beck said, but he never got an answer. What he got was bad, bad news from the left, right, and in front of him. Guys stepping out from the bushes and behind cars. They were here already. How was that even possible?
> 
> "Martin," he groaned. 
> 
> "This is very interesting," Billy Walker's most mad-dog flunky said. He was waiting by Beck's truck, smirking and dangling his beanbag gun. "The boss tells me to tail you from the airport and make sure you bring him his son. And you do it. Assignment over. So what am I seeing here?"
> 
> "Nothing, Martin," Beck said, keeping it calm. "Just a guy on vacation. Travis and I are going to have a beer first to show there's no hard feelings." 
> 
> "Bullshit," Martin said. "We all knew he wasn't walking out of there." He looked Travis over with a nastily impersonal calculating expression. "I don't know what you're up to, but you're never going to the top, Beck. I'm going to the top. Billy's made me some promises." 
> 
> Beck was startled into a laugh. "You think we're rivals? I don't care about Billy's organization. You're welcome to it. I'm leaving. All I want is to get Billy the hell out of my life!"
> 
> Martin was skeptical. "So you take his son as a souvenir?"
> 
> Beck felt a flush coming on, as he heard a few snickers. "I didn't _take_ him," he said, off balance. What the hell was this? First Travis, now Martin? He'd been in some tough crowds his whole life and passed, no problem. People didn't wonder, they didn't ask, and they usually didn't joke. 
> 
> "Yeah—you did," Travis said helpfully. "Remember, you—Jesus Christ, _what the hell is that?"_ The slack-jawed expression and leap of shock were startling enough, but it was the enormous girly shriek that put it over the top.
> 
> Martin actually looked.
> 
> Beck took advantage of the distraction to disarm the man on his left, shove him into the guy beyond him, body-check them both to the right to block the line of fire, and dodge around the far side of the truck, Travis on his heels. They ducked around a few more SUVs and paused for breath. He slanted a look at Travis. 
> 
> "Hey, it worked, didn't it?" Travis said. 
> 
> "Yeah, you're a genius," Beck said. "Keep your head down." 
> 
> He would have been tempted to stay and fight it out, but not with his restaurant at stake and Travis in the way. He still had the money; he might have to ditch the other bag. The driveway let out next to a park, with landscaping. Lots of exits. No kids this time of day. He chanced some open ground, heading for a hill with some play structures beyond it. Behind him, he heard shouts.
> 
> "Listen. Listen." Travis was breathing hard. He was a pretty athletic guy, Beck had, well, Beck had noticed, but the last couple days had been rough. "Let me lead them away from you. They won't shoot me."
> 
> Beck grabbed for his arm, but it was too late. "You don't know that," he shouted after him. 
> 
> "Catch you at the swing set," was all he got, as Travis' skinny hips vanished up over the hill. 
> 
> Beck cursed and started running again, keeping as low as he could. If Travis was right, he'd probably been safer standing next to him. 
> 
> The swing set was at the other end of the park, where a gate let out into another apartment complex. It might take Travis a while to find it. Staying behind hills added time, and two of Martin's outlying guys were on Beck when he broke cover, the chase slowing comically as they cut through the kiddie sand pit. At the sound of a barked threat he stopped and swung around, letting the bag with the frying pan fly off his arm and into his opponent's gut. He started to rush the other one, but the muzzle of the gun was already square on him, and he pulled back. 
> 
> "Hands," the man said, watching Beck like a hawk. Beck slowly put his hands up, watching in his turn for that one false move. He wasn't seeing it. He was seeing the beginning of a yell: "Mart—gh!"
> 
> The man toppled over onto his face, with Travis on his back. He'd slid down off the top of the parallel bars. 
> 
> Beck gave him a nod—he'd earned it—and pointed at the gate, taking off at a run again. When he shoved Travis through ahead of him, he saw Travis had picked up the other bag. They sprinted through a number of back yards and courtyards before coming out on a busy street, crossing it across traffic, and calling a halt at last at the sheltered back wall of a large grocery store. 
> 
> Travis was gasping for air, bending over. Beck put a hand on his back. "Hey. You all right?" 
> 
> Travis just wheezed. "Dizzy."
> 
> "Put your head down. There—yeah. I'll call a taxi." He pulled out his cell phone, still rubbing the back of Travis' beat-up jacket with the other hand. 
> 
> "Don't know... should be able... fuck." 
> 
> "Not enough food, not enough sleep. It happens. I'll buy you something at the airport." What was he doing? He felt... protective. Oh, that wasn't good. He dropped his hand. "Don't pull anything like that again," he said, but he couldn't make it too stern. Travis had been trying to help. 
> 
> Travis straightened back up and slumped against the wall, looking white. "Had to. You're kind of the best thing that ever happened to me," he said. "You and the Gato." His voice was small and tired. 
> 
> Beck, against his will, was touched. "You couldn't pay me back by keeping out of trouble?"
> 
> "Not my style." 
> 
> Beck sighed. True enough.
> 
>   
> 
> 
> "I don't like this. That guy in the glasses looked familiar."
> 
> "You think they followed us to the airport?" 
> 
> "Didn't have to. If anyone's looking for us, it's the obvious move." Beck brooded, studying the departing flights. He wasn't leading Martin _or_ Billy straight to his family and the city where he'd hoped to start over. "We've got to lay low for a while. Break our trail." 
> 
> Travis grinned and flicked his finger against one of the flights to Florida. "I know just the place." 
> 
>   
> 
> 
> The dirt road was getting swampier. "You're sure this friend of yours won't contact Billy." 
> 
> "Relax, I'm telling you, he owes me. He's not one of my dad's regular guys, all the way down here, more like a contractor. And even if they followed us from the airport, he can get us out of sight for a while, you know, on the down-low." Pause. "You know the _down-low,_ right?"
> 
> Beck had had enough time to waste during the flight to go over it in his mind, and he was sure he hadn't said or done anything while they were in the jungle to start all this crap. They'd been thrown together, on top of each other, hell, Travis had even made him pull down his fly, but he'd never touched the guy except when necessary, to guide him or give him water or save his life. He might have gotten rattled enough to _look_ a few times—danger, sweat, soaking wet shirts—but he'd never crossed a line. Beck's rules for a quiet life did not involve making passes at rundown targets, not to mention mouthy guys or crazy people, no matter how much adrenaline was involved. 
> 
> It was Travis who'd kept testing him, bribing and begging and batting his eyelashes, trying to see if anything could get him a break. (No breaks.) Whether the eyelashes part had been conscious or not, Beck didn't know; it could just be the way Travis was with everyone. The same way he called everybody "big boy," including his own dick. 
> 
> Why Travis was hassling him now, though, he couldn't figure out. Beck had blown his own chance for a clean escape from Billy to help Travis get out too, and you'd think he'd be grateful. Not try to make fun of him or manipulate him or whatever the hell he was doing. 
> 
> Speaking of gratitude... "Friends who owe you money aren't always good friends," Beck pointed out, checking the road. The jeep they'd hired after the taxi was bumping along at a good pace, but he'd had a bad feeling at the airport again. Nothing he could prove. "Maybe we should just take the flight." 
> 
> "Speak for yourself, you've got your capital, I still need mine," Travis argued. "Unless you're planning to support me in the style I'm used to."
> 
> "Dirt floors and mooching bar snacks?" Beck rolled his eyes, but he actually considered it, just for a second. It might be better than letting Travis walk straight into more trouble. No, what was he, crazy? Find Travis a job somewhere and cut him loose; tell him not to bother with postcards. That was the plan. 
> 
> "'Cause if I'm not gonna be your gigolo, what am I gonna do, look for more artifacts? Show up at your place and ask if you need a waiter?"
> 
> "...Can you wait tables?"
> 
> "Sure, I'm pretty good at it. Damn good. Good memory and afraid of nobody. And I can keep going all night without coke."
> 
> "No drugs in my place," Beck said sternly.
> 
> "Why you telling me, I just said I don't need it."
> 
> "It's just that I could use a good... nah, forget it." Another stupid idea. He must be tired.
> 
> "Use a good what?" Travis said. When Beck didn't change his mind, he lost a little of his hopeful air, but kept smiling. "I've got more talents." He rolled his tongue into the shape of a U and wiggled it. "Hey, did you hear what I said about how I can keep going all night?" 
> 
> "How old are you?" Beck said disgustedly, and went back to watching the road. What a goof-off. He couldn't wait to get rid of the guy.
> 
>   
> 
> 
> "Little runaway Travis. Back again. With a bodyguard this time?" The man laughed. It wasn't a nice laugh, and the big, ugly scar across his cheek and mouth didn't help. He was wearing a holster over his sweat-marked shirt. "Smart of you." His friends didn't laugh, and Beck had a feeling there were more of them among the trees than he could see from where they were standing. 
> 
> Beck had spent most of his life around the wrong people, and these were definitely more of the same. The sound of the jeep disappearing hastily in the distance underscored the ominous feeling, but he had to believe Travis knew what he was doing. The kid had survived on his own after dropping out of Stanford, right? It couldn't be pure accident. 
> 
> "C'mon, Scarface, you lost fair and square." Okay, maybe it was _pure freaking accident._ "This is Beck, he's a good guy. You'll like him. Beck, this is Scarface."
> 
> Beck shot him a startled glare. 
> 
> "That's what everyone calls him," Travis said with a shrug. 
> 
> Scarface smiled a bit, enough to lift the scar for maximum view. Beck took in a breath and lowered his head a little, feeling the pricking of his skin all over. "If we're going to do business, I'd like a name I can use."
> 
> "It's O'Hurlihy-Espinueva," Scarface said. "But if you get it wrong, I'll shoot you in the face." 
> 
> Some of his guys nodded, and Travis grabbed Beck's sleeve and tugged. Beck ignored him. 
> 
> "Okay, Mr. O'Hurlihy-Espinueva," he said doggedly. "Travis says you can get us a private flight out of town."
> 
> "And that money you were keeping for me," Travis said, letting go of him. 
> 
> Scarface did a scary stonewall for a minute, then snapped his fingers and pointed at the cooler and walked off out of sight among the creeper-hung trees as one of his guys tossed Travis a beer. 
> 
> "You're sure this guy likes you," Beck muttered.
> 
> "Oh, he likes me. A lot." Travis hunched his shoulders a little.
> 
> "You mean... What exactly is the layout here, Travis?" he demanded. 
> 
> "Look. I made a bet with him. Last time I was down here. If I won, I got the money and the free ride out of trouble next time I needed it. If he won, you know, he got... a little something."
> 
> So Beck wasn't the first guy Travis had played this game with. _"What?_ I'm starting to wonder about you, man." 
> 
> "It's like those monkeys in the jungle, remember? It's all about establishing dominance. I go along with his world view, he's more willing to help me out." 
> 
> "But what if you'd lost the bet?"
> 
> "I wasn't going to lose."
> 
> Okay, now Beck _really_ had a bad feeling. "You mean it was a sucker bet."
> 
> Travis grinned. "You say that like there's something wrong with it."
> 
> Scarface came back into the clearing, handing off a big mobile phone. 
> 
> "The word is somebody's pretty angry, Travis," he said. "Don't spread it around, but someone told someone that Billy Walker can't decide whether to say you and your man here are dead to him or make sure you're dead to everybody." 
> 
> "So he hasn't decided yet," Travis said. "Accentuate the positive." 
> 
> "Either way, sounds like he's not protecting you anymore," Scarface concluded. 
> 
> Following the slow sweep of Scarface's eyes, Beck was suddenly, uncomfortably aware of the way Travis looked in his tight, wrecked jeans and t-shirt, especially next to Beck's own quiet business gear. He looked vulnerable, negotiable, sulky. Easy. And Scarface looked smart enough to recognize a sucker bet. 
> 
> "Here's the deal," Scarface said. "A flight from my own private airstrip, just across the border. You hide out there until Billy runs out of places to look. We never saw you; nobody finds you. A hundred bucks."
> 
> _Way_ too low. "What's the catch?"
> 
> "The flight's for you, Mr. Beck. Travis stays here."
> 
> There it was, out in the open. Not Travis' imagination, either. Okay. Trying to plan far enough ahead of his words to get some real negotiating done, Beck said, "I'm thinking we've got a choice. Option A..." 
> 
> Travis hastily interrupted, face white. "Oh, no way, Beck is not even considering your offer. Because he's a really possessive hombre, you know? See, I'm with him, and Beck does not share." 
> 
> Beck did a double-take, but Travis avoided his eyes and stepped forward, arms jerking. "That's right, he found me down in Brazil and cuffed me and dragged me home and made me like it, I'm his little bitch now. So if you want my ass, you're going to have to _win_ it from him in a _knife_ fight." 
> 
> Very funny. Beck gave him an annoyed look. 
> 
> Scarface shrugged and rolled his shoulders, putting his gun on the table. "Okay."
> 
>   
>  Beck's Strategy for Winning Knife Fights:
> 
> 1) Remove the knife from the equation, as soon as possible, by any means necessary.  
>  2) Proceed as for a regular fight.
> 
>   
>  Beck carried out step one with uncompromising ferocity, not protecting himself, just targeting the weapon. It put Scarface off-balance, making him scramble without the rhythm of attack and defense. Beck dropped his own knife and let it get kicked away. The thing was, he'd never been a big knife fighter, and he didn't know if he could win this one, and he wasn't leaving Travis here unprotected. So he took a few cuts and threw all his weight and speed into the fight until finally, he got leverage on Scarface's hand and knocked the knife out of the picture.
> 
> Step two took fifteen seconds.
> 
> After he waited long enough to be sure Scarface had acknowledged the loss, let him up and backed away, he got a bigger surprise. There was no next attacker: the watching men backed off and let him be.
> 
> Scarface limped past him and said, "We'll fly you out tonight. After dark. You can have some food." 
> 
> Beck considered asking if there would be drugs on the plane too, but this was one case where it seemed better not to know. 
> 
> "What about my m—" Travis called after him, but Beck clamped a hand over his mouth. 
> 
> Travis flailed and tried to pull it off, then relaxed and gave Beck another of those coy I-caught-you looks. Beck jerked his hand away. "What the hell was that?" Beck said, still outraged. 
> 
> "I was scared. You would be too."
> 
> "So you escalated the situation? You put me out there?"
> 
> "Yeah, sorry about that. It worked, didn't it? I knew you wouldn't let me down." He gave Beck a fake grin and shoulder clap and sauntered off toward where they could see the smoke of a grill. 
> 
> Beck muttered something longing about delivering beat-downs and then followed. He'd spent most of the last two days on planes, he was pretty hungry. 
> 
>   
> 
> 
> They claimed their share cautiously, Beck feeling pretty self-conscious. All these guys thought he was screwing Travis. That was just a weird feeling. But nobody seemed to think anything of it, out here. He imagined it for a minute, bought the scene. Travis owed him big, no question, and he... Beck shook his head at himself wryly, unable to even picture it. The thing was, inside he was still the same guy he used to be, with a first and last name and a tie he used to wear to church, a good boy who'd looked after his sister and helped his mama in the kitchen. No matter how bad things got, he'd always tried to stay someone who could go home at the end of it. And, all right, Travis wasn't that much younger than he was, but he was still a messed-up kid with a right to be scared, and Beck was going to get them both out of this. 
> 
> They moved aside from Scarface's men, sitting against trees to eat. 
> 
> "So what are the odds your 'friend' has called Billy already?" Beck asked, keeping his voice low. 
> 
> "He won't do that. I grew up in my dad's house and all over the world, I know all types of lowlifes, okay? Guys like Scarface, they have their own code of honor."
> 
> "I hope it's the kind that forgives sucker bets and knife fights."
> 
> "C'mon, chill out. Hey, are you going to eat all of that?"
> 
> Beck glanced over. Travis had finished already. "Remember?" Beck said, feeling his temper bubbling up a little. "I don't share." He said it more dangerously than he'd intended to. 
> 
> Travis surprised him by flushing under his tan and looking away. 
> 
> "You came out with that little scenario pretty pat, back there," Beck said. 
> 
> "Hey, you kidnapped me, you must have had something in mind."
> 
> Beck sputtered. "I _rescued_ you!"
> 
> "Okay, yeah, but still, you stood up to my dad. You shoved me out the door. You fucking _claimed_ me, for real. You're telling me you don't want something out of it?"
> 
> "Yeah, I'm—" Travis crawled in front of him and put his hands on Beck's thighs, and Beck shoved him away, uncomfortable. "I'm telling you to back off!" He stood for some distance.
> 
> It was a mistake. Travis just leaned in closer, and Beck caught his head as it came dangerously near his crotch. He froze, hand knotted in Travis' hair. 
> 
> Straining against the odd angle of his throat, Travis said, "Watch it, Beck. You convinced all these guys here that you own me. They see you pushing me away? People are going to wonder. Maybe Scarface is going to think you made a fool of him. That wouldn't be good." He licked his lips. 
> 
> Beck took a few more heavy breaths and then recoiled, letting go of Travis and sitting down again, arms protectively around his knees. It was a good thing his pants weren't tight. 
> 
> "I think you were wavering there, big boy."
> 
> "Where are you getting this?" Beck asked, frustrated. Don't show weakness, always stay in control. He'd followed all his rules, he'd kept everything under wraps, like always. How the hell had Travis known? 
> 
> Travis said quietly, "It's just the way you look at me, man." 
> 
> A shot of something went through Beck. If he'd had time, he could have identified it: Panic. Excitement, and wistful wanting. 
> 
> "Look, maybe you think it isn't your thing, but if you give me a chance, I bet I could change your mind." In a pose that looked both slutty and weirdly humble, Travis got up on his knees and waited, hip cocked, the denim of his jeans pulled tight around his crotch, the worn shirt clinging to his pecs.
> 
> "I thought you liked Mariana." 
> 
> "Yeah, she' s my type. Big, dark, exotic. Doesn't take my crap." 
> 
> "'Big'?"
> 
> "You could be my type too, Beck." 
> 
> Beck's second line of defense: "I'm not interested." 
> 
> "That's just prejudice. Once you've had scrawny white guy, you never go back." Travis, getting hyper, jumped to his feet and twisted. "Look at this ass, you know it's tight. You _know_ it's tight."
> 
> Jesus, it probably is, Beck thought involuntarily.
> 
> "You know why they call us the other other white meat? Cause we look good on a skewer. Shish-kabob, baby!"
> 
> Beck rubbed his forehead. "Don't... ever say that to a chef." 
> 
> "Uh. Right. I'm overdoing it?"
> 
> Beck dropped his hand. "Just a little! What the hell are you trying to do here, Travis?"
> 
> "What do you think? I'm trying to get laid."
> 
> Beck waited for the real answer. 
> 
> Travis waited too. 
> 
> —He was serious.
> 
> Travis looked at him quizzically and sat down again, back at a safe distance away. "Not to sound _crazy,_ but you're not really all that ugly. In fact, some might consider you a big handsome stud. Also, you're... nice." 
> 
> Okay, now he was just being insulting. 
> 
> "Seriously. Nobody like you's ever been decent to me before." Travis studied the ground. "It's nice to have a man in my life with some integrity, you know?"
> 
> Beck was touched. "I'm, um. Thanks." The memory of Billy smacking Travis across the face replayed itself. Almost regretfully, he said, "Sounds like you're just looking for a daddy." 
> 
> Travis sat up stiffly and scowled. "I do not find my dad attractive at fucking all. That's disgusting, Beck. You're a dirty-minded pervert."
> 
> "...Sorry." Beck figured it was easier than arguing. As a peace offering, he tossed Travis a carrot. 
> 
> Travis tucked the end in his mouth and started sucking it in and out, really far in, waggling his eyebrows. 
> 
> Jesus.
> 
>   
> 
> 
> Sunset was a long, slow process, lighting the haze in all directions as the insects started speaking louder and louder. The plane had been fueled; so far, so good. Their first hint of trouble was an explosion in the direction of the road. Engines roared, and two big jeeps started plowing through the camp, to the sound of bullets and shouting. 
> 
> "No way!" Travis said, and Beck pulled him down behind a folding table as the jeeps pulled to a halt in front of Scarface. "Dad wouldn't just start—!" Beck saw the small figure in the seat beyond the driver.
> 
> "Martin," he groaned. The guy was just a little too twisted to predict. 
> 
> Scarface looked on the verge of busting a vein. He was armed, but didn't dare fire, and that must have been killing him.
> 
> Martin swung out of the jeep, flanked by guys in suits. Some of the men looked like Billy's guys, and Beck guessed the rest were local hired bullies. "You have something Billy Walker wants," he said. 
> 
> "Then I'll talk to Billy Walker about that," Scarface growled. 
> 
> Martin shook his head. "He sent me to bring them home, but you know what? If there's any confusion, something might happen to them. And the same goes for you... and anything else we find around here."
> 
> Scarface muttered something that sounded like a swear word, but Beck noticed his men around the clearing tensing up. A signal. This wasn't going to go well. 
> 
> Martin's guys raised their guns. He grinned nastily. "So, are you going to be smart, or..."
> 
> Travis stood up. "Hey! Jiminy Cricket! Over here!"
> 
> Beck tackled him out of sight and between the trees with the lightning speed of desperation. Scarface bolted the other way, and guns started firing. 
> 
> They ran, blundering through underbrush and trying not to get lost, dodging around tents and crates of supplies. It was already almost dark. 
> 
> Martin's guys were still on them. "Nice work, Travis," he panted, aiming for a lighter grey area that might let onto the landing strip. "And I thought you were a tough rundown." 
> 
> "We led them here, you know? Scarface—doing me a favor. Only... only fair." There was more gunfire, and cursing as someone collided with a tree. 
> 
> "You've got a big sense of honor," Beck said skeptically. "Is that why you keep hitting on me?"
> 
> "Kinda." A fist punched his back. "No, asshole, I told you, you're hot." 
> 
> They came out into a smaller open area and paused for breath. Beck eyed Travis. "Have you ever actually screwed a guy?" he heard himself demanding. 
> 
> "No way," Travis said immediately, kind of contemptuously. Beck had time for an uncomfortable flash of disappointment before Travis finished, "Do I look like a top? Hey, duck." Beck ducked, and another shot rang out. They charged back among the trees. 
> 
> The grey area was gone, and Beck, spinning in place, couldn't see another. He led them at right angles to the noise, or tried to, but sounds were deceptive this close to water. Pretty soon Travis' hand on his belt and the uneven squish of ground under his feet were the only things he was sure of. 
> 
> "Beck! There! Behind us!" Travis hissed in his ear. A glaring blue-white light had gone on, reaching up to towards the sky. Someone had popped an emergency light. Beck didn't want to, but they had to get closer, at least enough to orient themselves. If they got lost out here, Beck didn't like their chances. 
> 
> The main clearing actually looked empty, at least from what he could see of it. Maybe they could steal a jeep. Beck started working his way around the edge, Travis keeping mercifully quiet except for the occasional lurch and grumble. He started to break cover from behind some tarp-covered supply crates when a nearby shot sent him flat again. 
> 
> "Beck," Scarface said. 
> 
> "Yeah." 
> 
> "I owe you," he said, and it didn't sound like he meant a favor. 
> 
> "Scarface! Beck! Come out, come out, wherever you are!" Martin sounded borderline deranged. Beck could picture his round, white eyes. 
> 
> "Scarface, man, we could join forces, make a run for it," Travis called quietly, starting to poke his head out. Another shot. 
> 
> "Look what you've done for me already," Scarface said. His voice didn't sound right. 
> 
> He's wounded, Beck realized. "Listen to me," he said. "There are three of us here who want to take that gun away from you. Only one of us wants to shoot you. So, think it over. You can make a choice."
> 
> No shots; he risked looking out again, and Scarface looked back, but didn't shoot. He was sitting on the ground against the shelter of the jeep's wheel, one bloody hand pressed to his stomach. 
> 
> "Option A, you can put that down and help us hitch a ride. Or option B, you can shoot us and leave Martin with no reason not to whack you." 
> 
> A different engine roared and sputtered somewhere nearby, the airstrip: someone trying to get away in the little plane. Shots followed, and then an explosion. There was a wave of heat they could feel even from their hiding place, and the scattering echo of wreckage hitting trees. Beck took advantage of the noise to stand up and shout. "You hear that? He's making a grab, okay? He's taking Billy on. You can't deal with him." 
> 
> "Pretty smart, Beck," Martin said from behind him. 
> 
> Beck had a silent, slow moment in which he said goodbye to his bafflingly almost-there life, and then came the gunshots. 
> 
> Martin groaned and fell. 
> 
> The gun dropped from Scarface's hand, and Beck went to check on his bleeding, keeping low. Travis stayed close. 
> 
> "Scarface, man, thank you, thank you," Travis was saying. "I'm sorry—I didn't know about this psycho, okay? I'm sorry, shit. I wanna help." 
> 
> Scarface ignored him and talked to Beck. "Go away," he said. "Now." Beck met his eyes for a long moment, seeing the same calculation: this much investment, and for what result? Voices were coming closer. He nodded and dived into the dark under the truck, flattening himself to the swampy ground as much as he could. After a moment, Travis crawled in next to him. 
> 
> "That's Martin?" There was shuffling, and the sound of a limp body being rolled over and kicked aside. Pairs of heavy shoes passed their hiding place. "And, shit, you don't look too good either, Scarface. The boss is not gonna be happy."
> 
> "It's worse than you think," O'Hurlihy-Espinueva said. He breathed in painfully—loud enough that Beck could hear it from under the truck, that thick catch of bubbling blood—and told Billy's guys, maybe his last words: "Travis Walker was on that plane."
> 
>   
> 
> 
> Beck had always meant to leave town once he had his money. Set up the restaurant on the far side of the country, look up his sister and his cousins again, go back to his full name... cut down the chances of Billy stopping by for one more favor. He'd seen Travis burn up those plans like a cardboard match, but now Scarface had bought them some breathing room. 
> 
> Beck couldn't believe it. He could _relax._
> 
> The hotel room was small but decent. They'd fly out next week: he'd picked up some cheap one-ways. Yeah, for both of them. He could get rid of Travis when they got to... when... after... 
> 
> Right now Travis was rubbing his back. 
> 
> Beck lay face-down on the bed, shirt off, letting Travis dig into his knotted shoulders. After all the miles, fights, and near-misses he'd been through, he was willing to believe he deserved a little something. To let go, just for a minute.
> 
> "Seriously. You must work out, like, every day. What do you bench?" 
> 
> Beck ignored him, giving an involuntary little groan. 
> 
> "Oh, man." Travis' hands stopped moving. "What is it going to take to get you to screw me? I'm dying here." 
> 
> Beck gazed past the pillow at the hotel wall. "If I did," he said, "would you shut up?"
> 
> There was a pause. Travis admitted, almost sadly, "Nah, I'm usually pretty vocal."
> 
> Beck sighed. "Fine." He rolled up onto his side and pulled Travis in.
> 
>   
> 
> 
> Travis hadn't been lying about doing this before. He knew exactly what to do. He also hadn't been lying about being tight. Daaaaaaamn. "You okay?" 
> 
> "Less talk, more cock," Travis gasped, grabbing the headboard. The light picked up the muscles on the back of his neck and along his bowed spine as he pressed down to the bed, cheeks in the air.
> 
> Beck felt completely paid back for all the aggravation, right here and now, just after one inch. Punching the condom deeper in bit by bit felt better than anything he could remember. Two inches made up for the whole El Dorado thing, another and he was fine with risking future run-ins with Billy Walker. And Travis wanted it. Another squeezing tight inch and he was seeing stars. He pushed harder. 
> 
> "Damn, you're big. Fuck. You're big, you're too big, it hurts. Ah!" Travis gave a complex groan.
> 
> Clenching his teeth, Beck stopped.
> 
> After an incredibly long second or two, Travis jerked to try to look over his shoulder. "What the hell are you doing?"
> 
> "You said it hurts," Beck managed to say.
> 
> "So you _stopped?"_ Travis said. 
> 
> "What the hell kind of guys have you been sleeping with?!" 
> 
> Travis said, sounding mildly disgusted, "Man, maybe _you_ should have been _my_ bitch, I could have shown you how it's done."
> 
> Beck grunted, "You are _not_ —my _bitch."_ He grabbed Travis' hips with all his strength and shoved in hard. 
> 
> "You're pissed now," Travis observed, clutching for the headboard again. He sounded happy. 
> 
> Beck fucked him until he howled like a dog.
> 
> They lay in a tangle, heavy and sweaty. Beck thought he might be floating. Travis stretched, from head to toe, scraping his fingers idly against the wall. 
> 
> "That was amazing. You're amazing. You've really got it."
> 
> Travis pushed around until he was facing Beck, naked chest and flat stomach. "You fucked me till I howled like a dog."
> 
> "I remember," Beck said. 
> 
> Travis' eyes widened. "You can't tell me you didn't dig that. You _can't_ tell me!" 
> 
> Beck got up on his elbow. "Listen. No more of this role stuff, this master-servant thing, I mean it," he said. "That's not my style."
> 
> Travis nodded and started to say something, but Beck cut him off. 
> 
> "—But there are some rules."
> 
> Travis grinned. "Yes, boss." 
> 
> "First: never call me 'big boy' during sex again." 
> 
> "Aw," Travis said. "But it just slips out. Big man? How's that? Big daddy, like a Swingers retro thing? I'm not calling you just daddy, that's for damn sure. Even if you beg. Jeez, I never knew you were so kink—"
> 
> Beck had grabbed his chin and squeezed his mouth shut again. Travis stopped making noise as Beck looked at him seriously. "Travis," he said. "You're free now. If you need a job and a place to stay, we'll find you something. I promise. But if you want to keep hanging around me for a while—I need to know. Are you going to keep talking bull and pissing me off the whole time? I just... need to know." He lowered his hand. 
> 
> Travis, quietly, said, "No, man, I'm just nervous." He flicked a look up at Beck. "Remember when you first found me in that bar and you thought I was the most obnoxious little shit you ever met? But then later, when we'd been through some stuff, you got to know me better, you started thinking I was just kind of irritating."
> 
> Beck admitted, "Yeah." He was mollified by the memory. "I guess I even started to like you." Travis looked suspicious, then started to light up. "A little! Maybe!" 
> 
> It was too late: Travis had gone to a full-blown nuclear grin, eyes shining. He punched Beck lightly in the chest and then tackled him, relaxing.
> 
> Staring at the ceiling, Beck slowly put an arm around Travis. He'd made the kid that happy. Just by liking him. Beck felt about seven feet tall. 
> 
> So, not a huge difference, but still nice.
> 
>   
> 
> 
> Last shower, last meal, last morning in Florida. Beck was packing to leave, turning their place back into an anonymous hotel room with efficient speed. Travis was walking around in a towel.
> 
> Travis picked up something from the table. "That's your sister, huh?" Beck looked up: Travis was holding the photo. "What's your family like? I bet they'll like me." He saw Beck's expression and grinned. "You met my dad, it's only fair."
> 
> When Beck still couldn't speak, Travis said reassuringly, "Hey, you don't have to tell them about how you kidnapped me and won me in a knife fight and made me your little bitch. You could just say I'm your new boyfriend." 
> 
> It was obviously time to draw the line. "You are not..." Beck said. "Meeting my family." 
> 
> Travis tensed up and started getting that glowing, thrilled look again. Beck came over and snatched the picture to safety, glaring for lack of a better response. "And Jill's going to hate you." 
> 
> She probably would. Jill hated everyone he...
> 
> Jesus. He was never getting rid of the guy.
> 
>   
> 

 


End file.
